


Unbroken Vow

by Southernsassafrastea



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southernsassafrastea/pseuds/Southernsassafrastea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of DA2. Sebastian Vael makes good on his promise to bring an army to Kirkwall. But wars are seldom holy and conquers with the best of intentions are still tyrants in the eyes of their conquest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

        There was an arrow bolt through her shoulder. Aveline had recognized the fletching when she glanced down, eyes narrowing at the bloom of red eking out between the plates of her armor. The Prince of Starkhaven could have killed her instead of just the injury. Was this meant to be a taunt?

“Close the gates,” she spoke clearly even as red overtook silver.

Her guardsmen, those few loyal left alive sprung to work. Massive gates slowly closed, hinges creaking as they blocked off the heart of Hightown. They needed a plan. She needed a plan before Kirkwall lost the last of its guard and with them any chance for the city to recover on its own.

“Guard Captain” Guardswoman Brennan looked at the arrow sticking out of her superior’s shoulder. A normal person would have at least acknowledged the pain of it, but her captain was anything but normal. When they called the cease fire long enough to gather the dead, she hadn’t said a word as she walked along the bodies, even when she’d gotten to Donnic’s corpse.

What type of woman doesn’t weep at the sight of her dead husband?  Brennan didn’t understand it, or why Aveline simply pulled off his wedding band and kept walking. Was she truly a golem, this woman they followed?

“I’ve the casualty reports Ser. We’re down to twenty five percent of able bodied guards. There are four officers left above the rank of sergeant.” Brennan huffed but continued. The Captain wasn’t even looking at her. “The Viscount is among the dead. He got caught in that last attack on the Keep.”

Green shifted now, gaze hard as she looked at the report. If Bran was killed then…

“Bloody hell… this settles it then.”

“Guard Captain?”

“The new law, the one signed on after Dumar was killed to prevent a vacuum of power and squabbling nobles.”

Brennan hissed, even as she thanked the Maker she wasn’t in her superiors shoes. “Until a vote is raised then-”

“Then I’m acting Viscountess. You’ve the right of it.”

Aveline closed her eyes. They’d lost. The Free City state of Kirkwall would be free no more. She wondered if she should feel grateful the Chantry brother turned Prince claimed to walk Maker’s path. Would he be lenient to the people loyal to the city? Or would he burn them and claim it divine fire?

“Raise the flag Guardswoman. I’m tired of people dying for a cause already lost.”

\----

The chairs and table were a nice touch. Aveline would have to thank whoever set it up. Providing of course the newly minted conqueror didn’t ask for head as a token of surrender.

“Lass, I would have hoped you saw reason before this. I would have spared the city your stubbornness.”

Her teeth ground together as she sat, flashes of the bodies they burnt victims of his siege.

 “Vael,” a blunt refusal to use his title even now. “Let’s get this over with.”

The crown of Kirkwall was bent. They’d had to pry it out from under a pillar. The silver had not fared well from the encounter. Aveline set is along with a treaty of surrender down. It was a simple thing. Quarter for Kirkwall’s guards and no repercussions for the citizens that refused his occupancy.

There were less than ten mages in the Kirkwall Circle, if indeed an unoccupied house in Hightown could be called that. The oldest of the bunch was fifteen. The treaty called for fair treatment of them as well, a plea to keep those few survivors just that… surviving.

It should have been an easy thing to read and agree to.

The bastard didn’t even glance at it.

“I hear you are dual titled Lady Aveline. Viscountess and Captain of the Guard. Surely that is too much for one pair of shoulders.” She watched him talk. Hawke had always said Sebastian Vael’s eyes looked like the ocean. All she saw was ice. A sliver of fear for the city slid down her spine.

“Is this a confessional Brother Sebastian?” She replied mildly. “You’re out of uniform and you know I don’t believe.”

His hands slammed the table, rattling the crown so badly that symbol Kirkwall hit the stone at their feet. “I would remind you lass, your city is under the Maker’s rule now. Believe or not you will be brought before his judgment.”

“By you? The man who couldn’t wait to break his vows. Tell me Brother Sebastian, what does the Maker say about taking revenge? What does he say about your actions? Did he praise you for burning Lowtown? Offer you a place at his bosom for all the people felled by your hand?” Aveline sneered, knowing she was baiting him and not caring in the least. “You’re nothing but a boy playing at conqueror. You should have stuck to the cloth Vael, armor doesn’t suit you.”

He didn’t punch her. Aveline was surprised to say the least. He simply stood, towering over her and shaking like a Leaf on the wind. Would he kill her then? Did it matter if he did? She’d be with Donnic, her brave guard who stood resolute when ships first landed at the docks.

Her gaze lifted. Void take it, she wasn’t about to be killed by a puppy. “Take the treaty Prince. It’s a good one and the city will be yours.”  

His hand dropped to her shoulder, fingers worming under plate mail to squeeze the wound from the morning. Aveline hissed. She’d known it was his arrow that hit her, though the conformation did nothing to stem the pain.

“You’re wrong. The city is already mine, divinely mine for it is the Maker’s will to banish these malificars investing the very walls. You’re office of Guard Captain is gone Aveline and I’ll appoint a new Viscount anon. You’ve clearly shown you’re incapable of leadership.”

His hand dropped. “Your armor Lady, I’ll have it gone along with any weapons before you are judged and sentenced.”

There was blood on his hand. Aveline wondered if he even saw it, realized that white he wore was smeared red. She stood, forcing herself to straighten and meet his gaze head on as her hands worked the straps of armor. She’d have to trust her guardsmen to be smart and keep the rest of Kirkwall as safe as they could.

“Did you know?” She talked  plainly as blood splattered metal fell away.”If you’d waited a month on your siege you would be facing another person. I already had the paperwork drawn to retire.”

“The Maker knows his plan.”

“Your Maker must love irony then.” Aveline worked the cuirass over her head, leather attached and linen shirt that had seen better days coming up all in one piece. It had been a tight fit, and the reason she was leaving the guard evidenced in a slightly rounded stomach and belly button stubbornly pointed out.

She let the armor crash to the ground, before pulling back down her linen shirt and propping a foot on the vacated chair to work the straps holding her greaves.

He’d gone silent, completely silent. Until a sort of strangled whisper reached her.

“Och fool, would risk your bairn for stubbornness?”  

“To raise my child in a Free City State, rather than your tyranny… I’d risk everything.”


	2. The unbroken Vow

She expected to die. Child or no. Self proclaimed holy man or not, Aveline expected to be thrown in jail and executed. When Sebastian curled his arm around her bicep and marched her, his soldiers falling in step behind away from the Viscount’s Keep, her feet dug into the stones of Kirkwall. She pulled against his hold like a puppy on a not actively fleeing but not making his leading a smooth process.

“Prison is the other way Vael.” She gritted out, the pain in her shoulder whitening her face.

“So it is, but you are Viscountess as well as my prisoner Lady Aveline. I’m not such a brute to throw a woman of your condition in prison with murders and thieves.”    

“I’m already in the company of a murder; I don’t see how another dozen or so would make a difference.”

He didn’t retort to her obvious bating, simply marched on. The answer to where they were going became evident as he turned sharply to the right at the base of the Viscount’s steps and moved towards the crest of red hanging above what was once Hawke’s manor.

The Champion had signed the house over to Aveline before she fled the city, apostate lover in tow. The guard captain had the place cleaned once a week, but otherwise left vacant. There were too many memories here, too many long nights playing Wicked Grace and talking about Ferelden to Hawke with the great Mabari she kept snoring at their feet.

He pushed her through the door, grip loosening as they maneuvered the entryway. Aveline seized her chance and jerked her arm from him before whirling around, bringing up her knee up to crunch it into the face of Andraste on his belt.

The answering groan was akin to music as he doubled over. She burrowed her hands in the deep brown of his hair and forced his face to her knee this time. Hoping she broke his nose before shoving him back against the soldiers trying to pour in around them.

Boots made a whisper of sound as she turned on heel and took off at a run. If she could make it to the cellar, just make it down there she could put a room of traps between her and Starkhaven’s soldiers. The trap door was down there, hidden under an armoire. She could move it and be gone into Darktown in a heartbeat.

The Prince would never catch up her to if she made it the sewers. Ten years in this city and all of them spent following Hawke. Aveline knew her way around.

 She’d make it.  
She’d make it.  
She was going to-

Pain blossomed up her back. A stark cry escaping parted lips as what felt like a dagger pressed into her spine. Aveline widened her stance, hips jutting forward to try and relieve that unrelenting pressure. It hurt, oh Maker it hurt and she could do nothing to get away from it.

A hand, sliding with wet gripped her throat. Muffled voice she could only assume from a broken nose growled as the pain in her back intensified until she sagged legs unable to hold her weight with the pressure of his fist to nerves.

“Lady” The brogue of Starkhaven making the word sound like a curse. “Were you not with child I would have you flogged Vicountess or no. You’ve lost. Your city, your life is in the Maker’s hands now, and I am the hand of the Maker here. You’d be wise to remember that lass.”

There were spots of light dancing in front of her eyes. The pain from her back making her want to breathe to push through it and the hand on her throat tightening so that she could barely gasp. He didn’t relent. Was she going to die like this? Laid out in front of Hawke’s fireplace like some sort of rag doll.

Aveline felt the ground come up to meet her. Gently, a surprise that he didn’t simply drop her to the stone.  

There were words around her, though she could to nothing but wincingly try to draw her knees to her chest. If she could just get a foot under her, if she could just stand, she could fight.

“Take her upstairs and call for a healer.”

“Yes my liege, I’ll send for him for your nose.”

Was that a laugh? Aveline shut her eyes, trying to listen through the pounding in her skull. “Aye for my nose and for the Viscountess as well, I should have realized any docility from the lass was a front. Get her cleaned up… the Maker teaches forgiveness and kindness. Starkhaven will show her both.”

She felt hands cupping her elbows, pulling her upright and then off the floor entirely into someone’s arms. The armor was dark, and whoever this was had a good few stones on the Prince.

     She needed to fight, the last lucid thoughts as her head lolled. The armor took her up steps. She was losing time, losing time and time lost as darkness met her.

 

Aveline woke to humming. It was an odd sort of sound, some ditty she couldn’t recognize but reminded her of being a child and rocking in safe arms. Her eyes opened and filled with the sight of heavy red velvet. There was a pull on her shoulder. The guard Captain had stitches enough to recognize the feel of them.

Her head turned and she watched the source of the humming finish tying close the wound of her shoulder. Not a mage then, though whatever salve he pushed over the wound numbed in the same way magic did, giving that blessed coolness to tender skin.

“How long?” The words rasped, tearing at an enflamed throat. Aveline started to sit up, only to have the healer put a hand on her shoulder and urge her back against the bedding.

“Hold still I’m not done with your wound.”

“How long was I out?” She tried again, laying still and watching the man’s face for any signs of lying. He was an older sort. She could scarcely see his eyes for the crags dug around them. His hands were gentle, even as he moved her arm to wrap it. Gentle and sure, she wasn’t his first wound patched.

“You’ve been asleep most the day dear. It’s just after evening vespers.”

“I need up. I have to-” Aveline pushed herself up again, ignoring the hand trying to sooth her back. Her shirt was gone, though she could see a puddle of reddened linen she assumed was it on the floor. She still had her binder and the small mercy of the hidden blade within the leather. Breeks and a binder were enough to have her overpower the bonesetter. It would have to be.

“Listen to him girl.” Her eyes shifted to dark armor, the vague memory of it carrying her up the stair case. “You’re a guest of Prince Sebastian. You’d do well to do as you’re told.”

The man was enormous. If they weren’t in the Free Marches she would have thought him Avvar. His stare was dead, eyes so dark they seemed all pupil. Thoughts of fighting her way out subsided. She couldn’t best them both, not without a sword.

“I need to check your stomach dear.”

“No”

The old man smiled, teeth worn down but whiter than they should be peeking out between fold of skin. “You’re perfectly safe. This is simply to make sure the baby is alright.”

“I said no. I have a healer if your Prince didn’t kill the woman.”

The mountain of armor shifted in the corner, a subtle reminder that she had no choice in the matter. Even phrased as an ask, the directions were demands.

Aveline shifted back, her hands balled into fists at her sides as the old man pulled back the sheet and prodded her stomach. She suffered through it, suffered through the cold metal he set against her to listen to the child’s heart beat and the measure he brought out.

There was no expression when he cheerfully told her the child seemed right as could be and strong as well. She knew her child was strong, how could it not be with a father as brave as Donnic.

“Are you done?”

The old man startled back at the harshness of her words, before a look of what she thought would have been sympathy had he not been from Starkhaven, crossed his face.

“Aye, I’m done. You’ve lost a fair bit of blood dear, take care not to move so much.”

She ignored his advice, sitting up and then standing. The world tilted but she grit her teeth before reaching down for the bloodied shirt. A throat cleared before she could put it over her head.

“What?”

The mountain spoke. “The Prince wants you in proper clothes.”

“These are proper clothes.”

“A dress girl. You’re to meet the noble families and a formal dress is required.”

“If Vael is Void bent on a dress, he should wear one himself. I wear my own clothes.”

Fifteen minutes later and many curses, Aveline limped out the master bedroom of Hawke’s manse. Her shoulder was singing but she’d kept her word. The clothes she was wearing were her own. It had been worth losing the blade kept in her binder, given up when she slashed the dress the man in armor tried to forcefully put over her head.

But she was wearing the same clothes she started the day in.  
               Little victories would have to suffice.


	3. Chapter 3

Green gaze glared into blue before her lips curled into a smile at the purpling under his eyes and swollen features. Healing or no, Aveline was sure his nose smarted still. “You should know better Vael. Kirkwall or no, I’m still Ferelden under it. I don’t suffer fools.”

His expression stayed blank save for an eye twitching. She gave thought to making another run for it. Her shoulder wasn’t bleeding and the exhaustion that had plagued her since Starkhaven’s banners heralded the attack was gone. She could fight. She could win. She could… do nothing for a city already out of her hands.

“Blessed Andraste was Ferelden lass. If the Maker could love despite her being a heathen, than I can do no less than love and forgive you as well.” The words came in that brogue she despised along with his offered arm.

Her lips peeled back, teeth flashing in a grimace as hands balled into fists at her side. Aveline had never known hate like this before, red flashings that sparked and flooded her mind with images of breaking that offered hand and the rest of him. It should have shamed her, revenge wasn’t a game she played. Revenge was the workings of people too weak to forgive.

But how could she forgive him for bringing war in the midst of recovery?   
How could she forgive him for Donnic?

“Don’t give me your hand unless you’d like it broken off.”

He dropped his arm and stepped back, instead gesturing her forward. “I forgive you Lady Aveline. You were wrong to stand in the way of the Maker and fight, but I forgive you for it. The Maker would have us embrace all his children, even the unbelieving ones.”  

“You are not the Maker. I have no love for a god that abandons his charges, but even to compare that to what you’ve done… the people you’ve killed… you are more a monster than Anders could ever hope to be.” She shouted it, loud and louder still as if she didn’t give the words her full voice they might never see light.

His hand drew back. She could see the trembling in muscles along his arm. Would he hit her then? Kill her and end this farce she was forced into? Lashes shuttered down, she couldn’t take him and the man at her back without a weapon. Couldn’t take the guards filed into the house alone… even with a sword.

She’d have to take the hit.

The hit never came.

“Lass, we’re going to present you to the nobles now. You are acting Viscountess, and there will be a vote so as not to cause the city anymore upheaval. Let us go.” The voice was strained and followed by the click of his bots walking away.  

\----

Aveline supposed sitting between nobles that refused to meet her eye, with a wall of black armor behind her wasn’t terrible. Not compared to the Blight, or the Qunari invasion, or the myriad of other attacks on the city. It wasn’t by any means pleasant, especially not when Du Lancet asked her about if she’d gotten the request to change Hightown patrols… change patrols as if that was something that even mattered now. Half of the city had burnt to the ground and these, these flounced and laced idiots were basking in…

Her chair scrapped back, feet clad in useless cloth shoes to deter her from running, digging for purchase on stone as Aveline scrambled away from the table. She could feel nausea bubbling up, bile rising as every bit of the despair and loss hit her.

Red hair was a blur as she ducked under arm outstretched. Racing, racing until she was out of the room and towards the nearest window. Aveline tried the lock, hands shaking too much to undo the latch. She grabbed a vase, ready to break glass when a hand silently reached past her undid the window, letting in the air of Kirkwall.

Hands gripping the sill, she threw up into the street below, retching until her toes curled. A cold wet cloth was pressed to her neck, and a hand soothingly rubbed her back. Heaves turned to tears, unable to keep despair from taking over. She’d lost everything. She’d fought as hard as she could. She’d tried to keep people safe and what good had it done.

She’d saved nothing.

The hand dropped, and a throat cleared awkwardly. “Guard Captain…” Sebastian started.

She cut him off, shaking her head vehemently and pushing away from the window before she gave into the want to jump and get out of this nightmare. “Don’t, don’t you dare speak to me. I don’t want to hear how this is the Maker’s plan. I don’t want to hear about your Blighted liberation of Kirkwall. I want my husband back. I want the peace this city was trying so hard to reclaim back. So get your vote and kill me or do whatever the Void you want- but don’t you dare pretend to comfort me. You are a fiend and I wish you had been in that Chantry when it blew.”  

There was silence following her outburst. It echoed through the manse. He furrowed his brows at her. “Aye lass, I know what you would have liked, and I’ll say a prayer for Donnic. He was a good man from what I remember.”

“Don’t…” her voice pleaded now, “don’t speak of him. You killed him. You killed so many people for revenge. Revenge against this city and for what? What malificars did you hope to find? There were none here, just people trying to get through the day and you took that from them.”

“This was the Maker’s will. You don’t have to believe… and you’ve had enough excitement for today Viscountess. Ser Hossburg take her back to her room now.”

She’d thought he meant a city to take her until the mountain of muscle and black armor moved, grabbing her arm and nodding to his Prince before taking her back to the gilded prison.

\---

“Six packs of cards, three bottles of wine, and not a single weapon. Hawke you’re killing me.” Aveline muttered the words as she dug through yet another drawer. It served her right for waiting this long to look… Sebastian may be a Chantry brother playing at Prince, but he was no fool. Putting a weapon in the guard captain’s hand was akin to asking for her to use it.

“What are you doing girl?”

Her spine straightened and she offered a suggestion of what he could do with himself involving three goats and a donkey. It was delivered in a clear slow voice, barely a twitch to show the absurdity of it.

Hossburg didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow. Instead his dead glare stayed steady on her until she shut the draw with a snap and rose to her feet. Flakes of red dropped off her shirt as moved. The wet blood from the day before dried completely. His head tilted to the clothes laid out on the bed. The dress she’d shredded had been repaired and with it stocking and the rest of femine trapping to take the place of her shirt and breeks.

“Change.”

“No”

“Change your clothes girl. You shame yourself with filth.”

“The shame was your Prince’s for attacking the city in a fit of revenge. Bark at him, Void knows the boy could use it.”

Massive feet stepped forward, hands grasping her biceps, bruising as he lifted her off the ground so that feet dangled. “Change your clothes or I will strip you myself.”

Fear was a choking sensation.  
 It could freeze limbs and make breath catch in throats.  
 It could stop a heart and make grown men cower.

But Aveline wasn’t a man, and she refused to be scared. Foot pulled back before ramming bare toes into his cod piece and running up his armor, toes gripping metal as she forced her body curve and put her heel into the flesh of his neck. She straightened eyes grim as Hossburg started gurgling and let go of her arms.

She dropped like a stone, straightening out her back as it hit the ground and slapping palms out to take the shock from the blow.  Up in a flash her hand reached for the sword at his side. She couldn’t save this city, but Aveline could and would save herself the child she carried.

His hand closed over hers, before the other came up to wrap meaty fingers around her throat. She struggled feeling his fingers dig into the pulse points at the side of her neck. Face flushed as her brain tried to relief blood pressure that just wasn’t there. An ineffectual kick and then another before her body went slack in his grip.

**Aveline woke alone, in the dress, and mad as a dragon**


	4. Chapter 4

Her back ached. Aveline could feel the bruising when she moved. How many times had she hit the floor in the past few days? That had to stop. Hands dropped to her stomach rubbing circles on the child that slept there. She couldn’t take any more risks, not unless she was certain it would work and she could get away to… to anywhere but under the rule of Starkhaven.

The dress swished and swayed as she walked, bare legs brushing against each other with each step. It was unnerving not to feel the comforting weight of plate mail or the pull of leather from breeks. She hated it, hated feeling vulnerable like this. Of course that most likely the prince’s plan, what better way to break your enemy than to take away their body autonomy.

The door was unlocked, though she doubted he’d forgotten about her. That mountain of armor, Hossburg was sure to lurking somewhere. Nausea churned her gut at the thought of it, at the thought of him being the one to change her. Bastard. She’d kill him if she could her hands on a weapon, no one touched her without her permission.

“They refused to vote then.” The voice of the mountain spoke from the base of the stairs. Aveline dropped to her knees and crawled forward, ears piqued for some weapon of words she could use.

“Nay, they voted. Lady Aveline Hendyr was officially named Viscountess this morn. I’ve nae doubt the nobles did it to keep some measure of control over the city.”

“We took the City. Just kill her and name yourself Viscount. Proxy the seat and keep a military force in the Kirkwall to keep the rabble down.”     

“Aye, kill her and every guard left in Kirkwall will turn. She’s a cornerstone of the city, and she’s loved. It would be fighting in the streets. Nae the best thing to do is let her be Viscountess, and keep the lass a guest of Starkhaven. She can have the title – the interest of the city will be the Maker’s affair.”

Her teeth flashed at his words, muscles tensing at the thought of staying in his mercy. Damn the Hightown fools. They’d see her stay a prisoner for their own machinations.

“Besides…” Vael went on and turned, blue eyes piercing as they met hers through the banister railings. “Lady Aveline is our line to getting the Champion out of hiding, and with the Champion comes the murderer the city let go.”

She scrambled to her feet, anger pulsing in every nerve ending. “Hawke isn’t coming here. She knows as well as anyone your penchant for revenge Prince Vael.”

His lips curved ruefully before waist bent in a bow as if he hadn’t been aware of her ease dropping. “Lady Aveline, you’re looking befitting your station. That dress is very flattering lass, matches your hair.”

She growled at him, before stalking down the stairs. Skirts twisting around her legs unfamiliarly and nearly tripping her before she bunched them to side to move freely. She was barefoot, it seemed even as Viscountess, they weren’t going to allow her shoes on the off chance she got out of this manse turned prison.

“She’s not coming back. You’re a fool for thinking I would be the call to get her here.”

“You’re came with her from Ferelden. The Maker guides my hand in this. He will have justice for his slain servant. She will come back and that abomination will die by my hand.”

His look was so amused, as if he expected her to attack him, and Void help her. She wanted to do just that. Sink into him with curled fist and biting teeth until he and every piece of unrest he wrought to Kirkwall was gone. But Aveline was no fool. She couldn’t best him, not like this. Not without risking the babe or having a bone broke by the silent muscle beside him.

“I pity you Prince.” The words were spoken evenly, force of will keeping her from yelling. “I pity what revenge has done to your soul. I pity what Elthina would think if she could see you now.”

His response was immediate and violent as hands grabbed her elbows lifting her up with a strength she hadn’t thought he had.

“Don’t!” Aveline yelled the word, shaking her head quickly. “I’ll apologize for my words. Just don’t…” she couldn’t make the rest of the words come, to beg this pup to not hurt her was beyond capabilities.

He set her none too gently on her feet. Fingers rising to pinch her chin and force green eyes to blue. “Starkhaven will its justice for the slain. You best hope lass, for your sake and your babe’s that Hawke comes back. I’ve nae reason to hurt you, unless you force my hand. The Maker would have mercy upon the fools that deny him.”

She shoved his hand away and took a step forward. Anger at him only rising as her stomach brushed his before her hand reached out to snag the cuirass of his armor. Hossburg shifted, armor sliding on armor as his hand reached for his blade. Aveline paid him no mind, simply stared at Sebastian until his gaze rose from the belly between them.

“If you think I will let your insults to me pass, let your butchery of my guards and the people who live here pass… then you are a bloody minded fool. Pregnant or no little Prince, you’ll get your comeuppance.”

Her fingers let go and quickly, quickly she stepped back, eyes scanning between the pair and weight rolling to the balls of her feet. It had been idiotic more than idiotic to threaten him. He was dangerously close to the edge of whatever tenuous grasp of his temper he had.

And she couldn’t take a hit without jeopardizing more than just her life.

He was still staring at her midriff, gaze intent on it and brows furrowed in bemusement. “You kicked me.”

Aveline was nonplussed. “I did no such thing.”

“Your stomach, your child rather kicked me.”

“Well… he doesn’t like you either.”

There was a startled laugh at that. “Aye, I suppose he wouldn’t. Come along then Vicountess. We’ve forms to fill out regarding the city and you’ve a need to be seen as unharmed by your former guard.”  


	5. Chapter 5

A month. Aveline was sure her stomach grew twice as much as it had in all the months prior. She felt as big as a house and the faint stirrings that she so looked forward to, had become a constant summersault of child, shaking her stomach and moving it side to side violently. Much to the amusement of the nobles she sat in meetings with and the Starkhaven Prince seemingly fooled by her demureness.

It was an act, all an act. But a necessary one. Rumors of a dark headed mage going fallen circle to fallen circle helping… it had to be Hawke. Had to be and that meant the Champion was slowly working her way closer.

She had to get away. There was simply no other way about it. She had to get out of Kirkwall and to warn Hawke of what was going on. Before she had the babe and the Prince had yet another person to hold out as bait.  So she waited, calmly waited for her chance.

“Tch. Lass your stomach is swelling like a toad.” Kind eyes near hidden in folds of skin crinkled with a smile as the old bone setter nodded and set aside the stethoscope. “Your man must have been a right large one.”

Aveline forced a smile. She loathed this man, though he’d been nothing but kind and patient with her, taking care of her with his Starkhaven accent and measuring tape. Hands impersonal but caring as he went about his business. It was just another way to prove she wasn’t in control, the loss of the no nonsense midwife she’d had before the city went to hell.

Carefully she sat up and reached out a hand for the man’s. She hated him, hated all this Starkhaven lot, but she wasn’t so cruel as the invader of Kirkwall. “It’s just you and a single guard in the house Serah.”

The man looked at her. Face tugged into a frown at her words before he settled back and placed his hands on the arms of his chair. “Lass, I’m old. I won’t try to stop you from what you feel you have to do, but take care. You’ve more than your life at stake.”  

Her hands were sure as she tied him. “It’s for the babe’s sake that I’m doing this. No child should be a pawn in your tyrant’s game of revenge.”

The bonesetter said nothing, even when she squatted down and pulled off his shoes, holding them up to her bare feet before making a sound of disgust. Too big she could stuff socks in the toes and manage. Aveline could do nothing with shoes a fair sight too small.

Hopefully the guard would have bigger feet.

Quickly she brushed red hair out of her face and ran out into the hall, still clad in only her shift from the exam.

“Help! Oh please Serah! The doctor is… something’s wrong. He just fell to the floor and started shaking. Please Serah, help him.”

The guard ran up to her, his feet near slipping on the stairs in his haste. She felt sorry for him really. There was still a speckling of acne on his checks and the last bit of baby fat clinging high as well. He was a child really. And with a sharp jab behind his ear as he ran past, an unconscious one.

It took two pairs of socks, but the boy’s shoes fit. Aveline wiggled her toes happily as she walked to the basement of the manse. Side stepping the traps Hawke laid and a firm kick to the armoire had her out of her prison and into the dark underbelly of the city.

She nearly couldn’t fit down the ladder and couldn’t see her feet at all to place them. Carefully, slowly though she knew time wasn’t on her side each step was felt out as she descended down until booted feet met open air and the sight of the docks.

It was four miles from the Docks to the Wounded Coast. When she’d been guard captain Aveline had boated from one to the other constantly. She wouldn’t be boating this time, which was why tempting as it was she hadn’t taken a weapon from the guard instead throwing the boy’s sword and dagger in the fireplace to give him pause should he manage to get untied.

She couldn’t hold onto a sword and swim, not when she was already having to adjust to her stomach. A deep breath, then another before she waded out into the balmy waters. Swim to the Wounded Coast and then walk to Cumberland and keep walking to Ferelden. She could do this. She had to do this.   

\----

It was Hossburg that told him of a missing patrol and the rumors that some red headed woman was swimming the harbor. Sebastian said nothing for a moment, simply set aside his pen and rubbed his temples with a sigh. The Maker was testing was him. It was the only explanation as to why the woman, pregnant woman wouldn’t simply fall in line.

Had he not had her taken care of? His personal doctor overseeing her care? No prison but a Hightown mansion? Let her keep her position as Viscountess when he could have simply executed her for her crimes? He’d been nothing but patient. Nothing but and still – still she acted like he was torturing her. He could have tortured her, could have struck fear in her heart until any secrets on the champion of Kirkwall came out her lips just to get the pain to stop.

It was infuriating.

Sebastian stood and reached for his grandfather’s bow, slinging the well cared for wood over his shoulder and grabbing a quiver of arrows. He’d haul her back to the city, and clap the woman in iron if that’s what it took to keep her in eye sight. First though he needed to go to the Hawke estate and see if he wouldn’t just be shooting her in the water for killing the royal doctor.

\----

She was exhausted. Aveline floated on her back a mile from the coast, breath laboring as she tried to gather some stamina for the final push. Was she really this worn down? Women worked fields pregnant. Women fought battle pregnant. Why the Blight couldn’t she simply finish her swim to freedom?

Her hands moved, slowly lifting and falling as she floated. She could do this. If she had to hole up in a cave to sleep when she got to the coast so be it, but she could do this. She would do this.

Achingly she turned in the water, green eyes latching on the shore ahead before she kicked with boots heavy as lead. Freedom. Warn Hawke. She wasn’t going to fail now.

\---

His troops met the guard patrol at the entrance to the wounded Coast. Sebastian giving the woman leading them a stern look that was returned in equal measure. He had known loyalty ran deep with the guard of Kirkwall, but surely in the months some headway should have been made. He was only doing the Maker’s work and bringing stability to an otherwise teetering city.

“Guardswoman… Brennan isn’t it?”

Blonde hair was pushed back as hard brown eyes glared at him. “It is Prince Vael.”

“I wasn’t aware that there was a patrol scheduled for the coast today.” His voice was mild, as mild as if he was inquiring about the weather not an escaping Viscountess.

“The Guard Captain believes in taking initiative. See a problem, fix the problem. There are rumors of bandits along here.”

He nodded, face still arranged in pleasantness. “And the blanket you’re holding. Is that for a picnic after lass?”

“It’s… yes it is Prince. We’d thought to take time away from a duties after the patrol to enjoy the coast.”

His eyes turned flinty, blue a biting thing as he raised a hand for the men behind him to move in. “Arrest them. The guard will have to be looked at again to see if it still has a place in Kirkwall or if it’s simply a seed of another rebellion against order.”

Brennan jerked her arms out of the grip that held them. “You bastard. How dare you! You should be asham-“

The rest of her words garbled as Hossburg stepped forward and crashed his gauntleted hand into her mouth. “You’ll watch your words against my Prince, or you will be executed.”

Sebastian snagged the blanket before it could hit the ground and tucked it in his arms. “You four take them to prison. Gently take them to prison, the Maker would have us forgive transgressions – even such despicable ones.”   

\---

The sand was warm under her. The sun’s light lending itself to the grains. Aveline laid on her back panting, nearly asleep as the waves still lapped at her feet. She was tired, so so tired. The boots she had so happy to have lost in the last bit of swimming, the weight of wet leather taking them and her socks off in go. Her dress barely fared better. The long material a drag on her that was chucked midway across the harbor.

Her shift was a good sturdy linen, already drying to her and crusty with sea water. It would do until she got out of the Free Marches and somewhere safe. All she had to do now was get to her feet and start walking. Lips parted in a groan as she forced herself to roll over, knees pulling under her as she started to stand.

An arrow thunked into the round beside her had feet moving before she realized, green eyes searching for a weapon as adrenaline pumped, forcing her up and running to the nearest outcropping of rock, only to sink down behind it completely gave out.

“Tell me lass. Do you enjoy testing my patience?”

Her shoulders drooped. Bandits would have been easier dealt with than the tyrant prince.

“You could just let me go Vael. You have the city. With me gone, the nobles will be forced to appoint a new Viscount, and you hold them in your pocket. Just let me go.”

Another arrow landed beside her, so close she feel the wind from it as it passed. Was he going to kill her out here? Hands dropped to her stomach, palm smoothing over it in silent apology. Damn him. Double damn him, if was going to kill her, he should have done it when he took the city.

“This is about more than the city. You are the bait to get that abomination here and the mage that was party to the destruction of the Chantry. Do you think I don’t know they are circling closer? They will come and I will have the justice for the murder of Elthina.”

“Vengeance you mean!” Aveline tucked herself tighter in a ball as another arrow hit closer, grazing her shoulder and burning as salt water mixed with the long scratch. “Blight take you Sebastian Vael.”

A breath, even and through her nose before she stood. If she was going to die today it would be cowering behind a rock. Feet trudged against the sand as she stepped out, gaze even on his disapproving face.

Disapproval morphed into something akin to horror as he stared at her, taking in dark shadows and sun burnt skin. Greaves crunched into the sand as he strode forward, gauntleted hands grabbing her biceps and ignoring the red coating them from the arrow. He shook her.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!” she sputtered out attempting kick him despite not wearing shoes. “Have you completely gone mad?”

He shook her harder, until with a final shove Aveline pushed away from him. “I said let go!”

“Sweet Maker lass… enough is enough. You’re going to kill yourself and the babe if you keep up these ridiculous attempts at escape. You are not leaving Kirkwall. You are a prisoner of Starkhaven, and I am near done with patience for your folly.”

He stepped back as Hossburg walked forward, wrapping the blanket around her tightly before lifting her into his arms. Aveline squirmed in the confines, panicking at the loss of control. “I can Void well walk Vael.”

“You can hush yer self Lass or I’ll make you” came the reply. “We’re going back to Hightown and you will not try my patience again lest you spend the rest of your time as a guest of the prison cells.”     


	6. Chapter 6

Starkhaven was… green. Not Ferelden green. Though Aveline wouldn’t deny she was biased when it came to homeland, but the river through the city state brought with it cooling breezes and lush grass to accent the slow moving barges that took trade from Orlais and Antiva through the Free Marches. Bare feet pressed into the mud, toes sinking deep as she watched the boats and dreamed of being on one slowly moving to freedom.

There was another pain, that low insistent throbbing in her back. It had been going on for days. Just pressure, nothing… nothing until she thought it was a feint of her mind then pressured pain again. Her hands smoothed over her stomach, fingers light as she ran circles over cloth.

She was in labor, after all her attempts to escape. After all the fighting and the snipes and sharp words she was truly under the thumb of Sebastian Vael. Her life of risk-able, her child’s would not be.

But for now, she sat and counted boats feet in the mud as the pain came on and off. Unwilling to deal with this new reality quite yet.

Sebastian Vael paced his hall. The rumors of Hawke and Anders had dried up months ago. He was sure, so sure that Aveline had managed to get word to them. Another trial from the Maker. Some test of faith. He’d pass, hadn’t he already shown how a United Free Marches was better in serving both the people and the Maker?  Chantry in Kirkwall well on its way to being rebuilt. Barbarian influence gone from the seat of power in Kirkwall, safely tucked away where she could do no harm. Charity in his actions. Charity in not putting Aveline in a cell. Charity in making sure her and the child… whenever she had it was provided for.

He was trying. Tests of faith aside, he was trying and showing mercy to a soul undeserving. Aveline should have been killed for allowing apostates to run rampant in Kirkwall. For allowing Anders to do – to kill the most beloved Elthina. But Andraste was kind. The Maker forgiving. He would be forgiving as well.       

“They’ve landed at the docks.” Hossburg’s words cutting through his inner thoughts. Sebastian rolled his shoulders, and nodded. The Grey Wardens had a fort in Ansburg, though he heard these in particular came from Amaranthine. Curious. Curious what they wanted so bad to come across the sea after? Perhaps a treaty involving the Minanter River?

“Have they now? Let’s go to the docks and see what these wardens want.”

Aveline watched the boat dock from her perch on the river bank. It was odd to see Grey Warden banners. She’d thought they had all but pulled back the Anderfels, or at least that had been the rumor.  She crooked her lips a bit wryly, the motion turning into a wince at the pressure tightening her stomach.  She needed to walk back to the Keep and… and submit herself to the mercy of the bonesetter.

Maybe she could try floating down the river again. Dodge the slow moving barges and ignore her labor pains. Float out to Waking Sea and then wherever the tide took her. Maybe she’d wash up in Antiva or Rivain. Maybe she’d wake on a pirate ship and hear Isabela’s voice laughing at her for looking like she swallowed a nug whole.

She let the fantasy build, mind’s eye adding details as she fantasized about sliding into the muddy water and letting Starkhaven be a memory. One to be forgotten in time.

The day dream shattered with the sound of a familiar voice. Green eyes moved to focus on the ship and the voice she hadn’t heard since he left for the Deep Roads with his sister.

“Carver” She breathed it, up and running towards the ship. Bare feet slipping in the mud as everything was forgotten in her haste to tell him to run, leave and run and get away from here before he was pulled into this madness as well.

“Prince Vael” The warden’s voice was deeper than it had been years ago, those last vestiges of teenager gone completely from his shoulders. Even brows over eyes a paler blue than the Champion’s considered him. A hand extended, calloused and wide from wielding the aptly named “Dog of War’ on his back. “Warden Constable Hawke here on behalf of the Order.”

Sebastian’s mind raced, though his expression stayed the mask of polite royalty. Whereas Aveline was a woman bound by her condition and a citizen of the city he divinely took control of. Carver was a Warden. They only answered  to their order and kidnapping one… especially one who had a ship of his fellows at his back. Would not bring the traitor to him. It would bring a war. Was this another test of the Maker?

“It’s always a pleasure to see Wardens.” Polite meaningless words. “Especially to one I’ve a history with. Tell me Warden. How is your sister?”

Carver shifted, a subtle tension threading his spine before eyes looked past the monarch to the red head huffing and holding her stomach at the edge of the dock. For a moment, rage flashed. Anger lighting features in an intensity strong enough that Hossburg dropped his hand to his sword while the other reached out ready to shove his prince behind him.

“My sister” he growled striding forward and bending down to curl a hand around Aveline’s arm and starting to jerk her upright only to pause at the guttural sound she made. His gaze glanced back to Vael. “My sister is obviously in distress Prince.”

Aveline stared at the ground between her feet, a bit bemused at the puddle she was making. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew she hadn’t pissed herself. But there was so much pressure on her spine that she bowed with it. She ached and ached and ached. Pain blooming up so that she couldn’t think beyond it.

Fingers dug into the armor encased forearm in front of her. The vague registering of Carver’s voice, just that vague and spotty as her called out. Sister? He’d tolerated her presence at best. What was he trying to pull?

Sebastian stared at the Warden and the woman he was holding up. The candle alighting in his mind. A guest of Starkhaven. That’s what the official word about Aveline’s stay was. The former Viscountess wanting a quieter life after the hardships she brought to Kirkwall and had retired to the green of his land and Maker’s mercy of a cloistered life. It seemed Carver had come here with a purpose, and one that gave him hope that Anders and the Champion would finally pay for their crimes. Hope that took a setback when the Warden spoke again.

**“I invoke the Rite of Conscription.”**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: Graphic depiction of child birth

      **Tense silence fell between them**. The only sounds were the creaking of the warden ship docked and the loud breathing of Aveline as every thought turned internal. There could have been a war brewing in front of her, and perhaps there was. But her thoughts, her very being focused on the ripples in her core as she clung to Carver’s arm for support. 

When the silence broke it was… not what she expected. 

“Warden with all do respect,” the Starkhaven voice was sharp, due respect evidently not much in his eyes. “If you think I’m going to let a woman obviously in labor have her bairn on a boat, ye’ve lost your mind.” 

There was a clinking sound. For a wild moment she pulled from her internal thoughts, thinking Carver was going to be an idiot and pull a blade. Green eyes startled up, only to see him holding out a badge. The proof that he could invoke conscription on anything and anyone. 

“You don’t have a choice Prince Vael.” 

It should have been humorous. It should have been hilarious to see the well-trimmed Prince and Ferelden farmer turned warden clash over a laboring guard captain. Aveline wondered idly, mind drifting from the clench of pain in her back to the orgasmic relief as it waned, how would Varric write this? Would he talk about the wind? The smell of fish from the docks and creaks of worn boards under boots? 

She leaned hard against Carver, tall body still muscled from the guard. Round stomach unwieldly on her balance. She wanted. Maker she wanted to walk with him to the boat. Fall into a trundle bed and curl up against the pain that was shaking her legs and catching breath. 

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t have this child born like a refugee. Couldn’t chance it sick like the bairns when they fled Ferelden during the Blight. Two weeks in the Waking Sea could… no. 

“I have to decline Warden.” Quiet words. Pleading words as fingers pressed hard to his gauntlets to will him into understanding. “I apologize but I cannot go with you.” 

The words he spoke in reply went unheard. Focus pulled to what was happening in her body. The pressure and pain of a child without a father pushing its way out into the world. The yells and cry for a Maker she didn’t believe in as inconsequential as butterfly wings.

A bed, not a trundle in a ship’s belly but a large four poster one. Clean sheets and the bonesetter’s craggily face as he patted her hand. Talk over and around her as she pushed to hands and knees rocking to try and relieve the pressure. A prayer, words in that hated Starkhaven accent muffled through a door and the thud of an armored hand hitting it followed by steady Fereldan cursing. 

Aveline screamed. It was a guttural sound, core shaking as she pushed and grunted. The talk around her murmured with the mention of blood and talk of feet first. It was hard. It hurt. It hurt and hurt and burned as she pushed through with sheer grit refusing to lose the babe or herself to this. No one was dying tonight.   

The babe was small, so small to have caused so much trouble. Grunts turned to laughter as she held the bloodied thing with its kitten like cries. She didn’t believe in the Maker. Andraste was a story at best, but Aveline thanked them both and Donnic as well for his Free Marcher grit keeping the child scrappy. 

“I had a niece.” Sebastian spoke from a rocking chair added to the room while Aveline slept the sleep of the wounded, his hands cradled the baby as she were as fragile as a hollowed egg. The faint creak of wood on stone sounding over the crackling of the fire place. “I never met her, my parents didna want a bad influence around the babe. I cannae blame them. I was wild before the Chantry set me right.”

Aveline pushed herself tiredly up, bruised green eyes focusing on the child. She’d been covered in blood and purpled faced when she’d been born. Now she was clean and wrapped in a blanket of Starkhaven’s colors, cared for as she was something precious not a bargaining chip to hold over Kirkwall’s champion. 

The tears were a surprise. The guard captain as a rule didn’t cry in front of people. Mourning was her affair, and hers alone. A test of strength failed at her most vulnerable. Hands reached for the babe as Sebastian carefully handed her over. Tears fell harder at the sleeping face and smacking lips. There was a hint of Donnic here in the dark complexion. Would her eyes turn brown like her father’s? Would she understand what he sacrificed to try and keep her safe? 

“What happens now Prince?” 

“Lady Aveline?” Brown brows furrowed in his wide brow, startlement at the question.  

“I asked what happens now. You broke Kirkwall and Hawke didn’t come. You held me prisoner and Hawke didn’t come.”  Wet eyed and sniffing hard to push the rest of the tears back, she gave him as even look as she could. “I won’t have my child in this game of yours. Do you understand me Prince? She’s innocent and I won’t…”

“I’ve nae want to hurt a child Guard Captain. Andraste’s grace, I’m nae monster.” 

“You are a worst monster than the abomination you hunt. She’s no father, no home because of you.” 

It paused him. Aveline saw the muscle in his jaw leap. She saw the intake of breath for a diatribe that choked off at the mewl of the babe in her arms. She saw his eyes jerk politely to hover over her head as she fed the babe. 

“The Maker guides my hand. He demands justice for his lost servant and he’ll have it.” Sebastian’s vision dropped enough to focus on her face. “The Champion’s brother is still here. I’ll have him sent in to you. I…” Indecision flickered. “I will pray fer the babe Aveline and ye as well at evening vespers.” 


End file.
